Snapshots
by Geek for God
Summary: A series of one-shots based on the songs on my iPod when I hit the magical button entitled "Shuffle". C6 - World So Cold/Steve. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**People, you can kill me later. I just need to take an itty-bitty, teensy-weensy, baby-sized break from my other story.**

**Anyways, I know there are a bajillion and one fics out there with the whole "Shuffle iPod" idea, but I don't really care. And if you do, then you shouldn't be reading this. Oh, and also, there won't be any slash in this.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own TobyMac, his songs, or Marvel. **

-GET BACK UP-

by TobyMac

_Wide awake in the middle of your nightmare _

_You saw it coming but it hit you out of nowhere_

_And there's always scars_

_When you fall that far_

_We lose our way_

_We get back up again_

_It's never too late to get back up again_

_One day, you gonna shine again_

_You may be knocked down_

_But not out forever_

_Lose our way_

_We get back up again_

_So get up, get up_

_You gonna shine again_

_It's never too late to get back up again_

_You may be knocked down _

_But not out forever_

Steve was thrown against a building, his head hitting the bricks with a sharp _crack_. He collapsed onto the ground, pain throbbing in his skull.

He hated robots.

Why did it always have to be robots?

He stumbled to his feet, shaking his head to clear it as he faced his attacker again. He ignored the colorful dots crowding his vision and reached an arm back to grab his shield.

He clutched nothing but air.

Oops.

Steve barely had time to wonder where it was before a metal arm slammed into him, throwing him back into the building's wall. This time his back took the brunt of the impact, but Steve was pretty sure he had still heard a cracking noise. Shifting slightly, he winced in pain. At least one of his ribs was broken.

Using the wall to support himself, he slowly staggered to his feet again.

The robot almost looked surprised. "Why do you not give up?" it asked in an automated voice.

Steve pondered that question even as he began swaying on his feet. In all honesty, he'd forgotten that giving up was even an option. It was clear that he was completely outmatched, and the fact that he didn't have his shield just made it worse.

But Captain America didn't quit anything – be it chess with Bruce, an argument with Tony, or a losing fight with a robot.

"Because I'm not done yet," Steve stated simply, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth and smearing the blood on his chin.

The machine drew back an arm, and Steve readied himself for the jump he was about to make.

As the robot's fist came hurtling toward him, Steve heaved his battered body into the air and landed on the metallic arm. Before his opponent had time to realize what was happening, Steve punched a hole in the machine's head, revealing sparking wires.

The robot came to a grinding halt, its body falling in slow-motion toward the pavement.

Steve balanced precariously on the robot and managed to remain in a standing position when it hit the ground.

Then Steve did a very un-Captain America thing. "Ha," he said to the smoldering metal heap. "I told you."


	2. Animal I Have Become

**Disclaimer: I don't own ANYTHING in this WHOLE ENTIRE STORY. There. Do I have to put a disclaimer in my other chapters now?**

-ANIMAL I HAVE BECOME-

by Three Days Grace

_I can't escape myself_

_So many times I've lied_

_But there's still rage inside_

_Somebody get me through this nightmare_

_I can't control myself_

_So what if you can see_

_The darkest side of me?_

_No one will ever change this _

_Animal I have become_

_Help me believe _

_It's not the real me_

_Somebody help me tame this_

_Animal I have become_

_Help me believe_

_It's not the real me_

_Somebody help me tame this_

_Animal_

Bruce felt rage build up in him, causing his blood to pump faster and his fingers to twitch sporadically. _No,_ he thought frantically. _Stop!_

But the agent's words continued echoing inside of his head. _Are you sure you feel safe with this monster around? Do you know how easily it could flatten the lot of you and not give a crap about it? I told Director Fury that bringing it in was a bad idea, seeing as how the _last_ time it'd gotten angry - _

Tony had snapped at the man to shut up. The man had started to leave, a smirk still lingering on his face, when a small marble had slammed into his eye. The agent had howled in pain even as he'd run from the lab, while Clint had surreptitiously slipped a rubber band back into his pocket.

But the damage had been done.

The "other guy" was starting to emerge.

He needed to warn the others. "Get out," he said to the Avengers.

Even though he'd been expecting them, even though he'd known they were going to be there, his heart still ached when he saw the looks of terror forming on his teammates' faces.

"Bruce," Tony started, taking a step toward the scientist.

Bruce let out a low growl. Didn't the idiot see that he couldn't control this? He couldn't _stop_ this. "Leave."

Natasha was the first to obey him. On her way out of the lab, she continued to glance back at him, her eyes wide with growing fear.

Bruce tried to ignore the pang of hurt the look caused.

"Bruce, you have to fight it," Steve told him calmly.

In response, Bruce's fist lashed out and nearly struck the soldier in the jaw.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the all-too familiar tingle build up inside of him. "Leave. Now," he snarled.

He heard three pairs of feet scuttle out of the room. He knew who the only remaining person was without even opening his eyes.

Bruce attempted to hold his anger back and _warn_ him, tell him to get _out_ of here, but it was too late.

He'd succumbed to the beast inside._  
_


	3. Healing Begins

**Disclaimer: Nothing I own, young Jedi.**

-HEALING BEGINS-

by Tenth Avenue North

_So you thought you had to keep this up_

_All the work that you do _

_So we think that you're good_

_And you can't believe it's not enough_

_All the walls you built up_

_Are just glass on the outside_

_So let 'em fall down_

_There's freedom waiting in the sound_

_When you let your walls fall to the ground_

_We're here now_

_This is where the healing begins, oh_

_This is where the healing starts_

_When you come to where you're broken within_

_The light meets the dark_

_ Big man in a suit of armor. Take that away, and what are you?_

Tony took a swig of whatever alcoholic beverage he was holding in his hand as Captain America's words echoed in his mind. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd said to that, but it had probably been something witty. It'd probably made people laugh.

What no one realized was that that jab had hit home. The captain had hit a sore, not-yet healed chink in his armor of sarcasm and pretense of not caring.

But no one knew that, because Tony was a great actor.

"Tony."

The billionaire whirled around, some of his drink splashing onto the kitchen floor. Then he saw who had spoken. "Oh. Hey, Cap."

Steve slowly made his way toward his almost-drunk teammate, his usual crisp steps now sluggish. He finally stood directly in front of Tony, his blue eyes boring into Tony's brown ones.

Tony, growing uncomfortable under the unwavering gaze of his teammate, was the first to look away. He looked down and realized, sadly, that his glass was empty. He held it out and told JARVIS to refill it for him. As JARVIS was complying, he tilted his head toward Steve. "So, Cap, do you have any particular reason for sucking all of the fun and, you know, happiness out of this room?"

Steve took a deep breath. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

Steve gestured helplessly as a tinge of red colored his cheeks. "For what I said on that . . . er, flying ship. It was not my place to say those things abou-"

Tony held up a hand, stopping the flow of words. "Cap. It's okay. It didn't really matter anyway." He gulped down another mouthful of the stuff in his glass.

"Yes it did."

Tony's head jerked up to look Steve in the eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped.

Steve refused to back down. "I know that what I said hurt you. You try to hide behind your attitude, but I know."

Tony's face remained impassive, but he felt a surge of panic rise in him. No one had ever gotten past his defenses before – how did Captain frickin' America manage to do just that? "I don't know what you're talking about."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you do, Tony. You shove all of your problems under a rug and refuse to bring them up or talk about them because you won't even admit that they're _there._ You just make a joke out of everything!"

Tony turned his back on the other man and started walking, albeit unsteadily, toward his bar.

Yet the idiot didn't seem to get the obvious, neon-flashing message Tony was giving. He put a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Tony . . . ."

Tony was fed up with Mr. Perfect trying to fix his life. As if it was broken or something. Why couldn't the dude just _leave him alone?_ "What do you want me to say?" he shouted, whirling on the super soldier. "That I don't get close to anyone because I'm afraid they'll leave me, like my father did? That every time I look at you, all I see is the thing my dad spent his whole, miserable life chasing after? That I'm scared I'm becoming more like him every day? Well, guess what? I'm COMPLETELY FINE!" He stopped, his chest heaving.

Steve looked shocked, but then he actually had the nerve to _smile_. "Progress, Tony." he said before walking out of the room.

Tony stared at the retreating form, incredulous. Then he sat heavily down on a chair. _How the heck was that _progress?

Although . . . he felt like some of his emotional burden had been removed. It was definitely still there, but it didn't feel quite as heavy as it used to.

Of course, he'd rather throw himself in a pit of boiling lava than admit that to anyone.


	4. Say Goodbye

**Okay, so, this chapter's kind of sad. And yes, I _do_ realize that in Skillet's song "Say Goodbye", it's talking about two people breaking up, not dying, but oh well. My fiction, my interpretation.**

**But I must say, it was fun writing from Natasha's perspective. I've never done that before. I usually use Tony's, because . . . well . . . he's Tony.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, Skillet, the Bourne series, or anything else you even _remotely _recognize in this. **

-SAY GOODBYE-

by Skillet

_We both know what we've gotta say, not today_

_'Cause I don't wanna leave this way_

_Don't say goodbye_

_'Cause I don't wanna hear those words tonight_

_'Cause maybe it's not the end for you and I_

_And although we knew_

_This time would come for me and you_

_Don't say anything tonight_

_If you're gonna say goodbye_

Natasha crouched behind a large car as the enemy fired another round of bullets. She pressed her back against the vehicle, cradling her left arm as blood gushed out of it. She was running out of energy. She couldn't keep this up much longer.

She reached up and touched the mic in her ear, pretending she didn't notice the wet, sticky liquid coating it. "Barton. You there?"

There were a few seconds of silence before an out-of-breath Clint said, "Yeah, I read you. How you holding up?"

Natasha silently took stock of her injuries. A small gash on her forehead was steadily dripping blood that she had to continuously wipe away from her eyes. Her jaw ached from when an enemy soldier had gotten lucky and landed a punch. Of course, she smirked, she'd paid him back ten-fold for that. A bullet had embedded itself in her bicep but, as far as she knew, hadn't hit any major arteries. Her knees were scraped up from diving behind make-shift forts and her ankle throbbed from when she'd twisted it earlier. "I'm fine. You?"

The sound of gunfire reverberated in her ear before Clint chuckled. "Same."

But Natasha could hear the exhaustion in the archer's voice. She was starting to think that they should've brought back-up. When she'd mentioned it to Clint before they'd set out, he'd scoffed and stuck out his chest. "Natasha," he'd said. "We're the two best assassins in the _world._ Well . . ." he'd paused. "Except for maybe Jason Bourne. But the point is that we don't _need _back-up."

If the situation wasn't so serious, Natasha might've said "I told you so".

Eh. Who was she kidding? "I told you we should've brought back-up, Barton."

"Hey," Clint said, sounding indignant. "I'm not done yet."

Natasha ducked as more bullets ripped through the air. A truck near her exploded in a ball of fiery heat, and smoldering pieces of mangled metal were scattered within a twenty-yard radius.

Suddenly a cry of pain sounded in her ear. "Clint," she said, her heart racing.

No response.

"Clint!" she said again, fear building up in her chest.

"Na-Natasha," the archer murmured. "I don't – I don't think I'm gonna make it outta this one."

The female assassin's reply was instant. "Shut up. Don't say that. It's _not_ funny."

"Nat," he said, and she almost burst into tears right then and there because he _never_ called her that, "I'm serious. It's – it's looking pretty bad."

"Just tell me where you are," Natasha said frantically. "I've been trained in the medical field. I can -"

Clint let out a small, resigned sigh. "So have I. It's too late."

Natasha tried to convince herself that her cheeks were wet only because of the blood that was oozing out of the cut on her forehead. "Clint," she choked out, "please don't do this to me."

"Careful, Nat," Clint mumbled, a hint of laughter in his voice. "You're starting to sound like you care."

Natasha bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She tried to make her next words sound composed and calm. "You should talk. You're the one who kept insisting that I be paired with you, so that you could 'watch my back'." Despite her best efforts, though, there was a slight tremor in her voice.

Clint grunted. "Touche." Then he began coughing, a wet, ugly sound. His next words were faint and nearly incoherent. "Natasha . . . I have to tell you . . . ."

Natasha stuck a fist in her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to take over her body. "Don't say it," she ordered him sharply, ignoring the tears that streamed, unchecked, down her cheeks. "If you say what I think you're going to say . . . ."

"Bye, Nat," the archer finally said. "Guess I'll see you on the other side."

"No," Natasha said, shaking her head vehemently. "Clint, don't do this. Clint. Clint!" She might've been sobbing, but she couldn't tell, because all she was aware of was the roaring silence in her mic. "Clint, answer me!"

Nothing.

Natasha managed to wrench herself away from her despair in time to hear the enemy soldiers marching toward her position.

She rested the back of her head on the car, feeling the exhaustion she'd been attempting to hold off consume her.

"Bye, Clint," she whispered to the silent mic in her ear. "See ya soon."


	5. We Are Never Getting Back Together

**I felt kind of bad for you guys after the last chapter, sooo think of this as my apology gift to y'all. ****And please try to remember that these stories are based off of _loose_ translations of the songs. So yeah, sometimes it doesn't make sense. Suck it up.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Taylor Swift (wouldn't want to, anyways), her songs, or Marvel. Or anything else.**

* * *

-WE ARE NEVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER-

by Taylor Swift

_This time_

_I'm telling you, I'm telling you_

_We are never, ever, ever_

_Getting back together_

_We are never, ever, ever _

_Getting back together_

_You go talk to your friends talk_

_To my friends talk to me_

_But we are never, ever, ever _

_Getting back together_

The days after the break-up were messy. And gory. And somewhat frightening.

Picture a ticking, nuclear time-bomb about to go off any second. Then imagine that bomb having the power of flight. Add long, flowing blonde hair to the visual image, and you basically get the point.

Thor gazed at the kitchen countertop, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot with deep shadows laying underneath them. His mouth, surrounded by untrimmed, unruly blonde hair, was turned down in a sad, slight frown. His shaggy eyebrows were drawn together, giving him the look of deep concentration.

The other Avengers were gathered in the living room, eyeing the Asgardian warily, as if he would suddenly collapse and die at any moment. "This can't go on," Bruce muttered as Thor suddenly gave a shuddering half-sob, half-gasp.

"What do you want us to do?" Natasha snapped quietly at him. "He's barely moved since _it_ happened."

A loud moan was heard from the kitchen, followed by an animal-like wail.

"Dude," Clint said, "he hasn't taken a shower in, like, days. It's kind of gross."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Oh, grow up, Clint," he stage-whispered. "You take a shower once a week. If even that."

Clint turned on the soldier. "I do _not_," he hissed. "I've started taking at least _two_ a week."

Tony raised his hands up and mimed applause. "Yay," he said in an undertone. "Everybody, mark this on your calendars. Clint's first milestone!"

"Guys," Bruce interrupted, his voice sounding exasperated. "Can we focus on the immediate problem? Which, for once, is _not_ Clint's hygiene?"

"Or lack of," Natasha smirked, to the amusement of Steve and Tony.

"Aw, come on," Clint whispered in a whiny tone of voice. "You too, Nat?"

The female assassin simply shrugged. "I just call 'em like I see 'em."

"_Anyways,_" Bruce continued, glaring at the other four.

"Hey," Tony said, holding his hands up, "I already told you my idea. Which you all immediately turned down without even _considering_ the prospects it held."

Steve sighed. "Because it was stupid, Tony. Not everything is cured with alcohol."

Tony grinned smugly. "And that's where you're wrong."

Bruce stood up, a little fed up with the lack of achieving anything. "I'm going to talk to him," he said with certainty.

The others gasped. "Are you sure?" Natasha whispered, her eyes wide.

Bruce nodded curtly. "It has to be done." He starting walking toward the downcast man.

"Be gentle," someone said behind him.

He reached Thor and, after hesitating a few seconds, finally took a seat beside him. "Thor," he said.

Thor slowly lifted his head so his sad blue eyes were locked onto Bruce's brown ones. "What is it, friend?"

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face heating up. "Um, well, we were all talking, and we think that -"

"That what?" Thor boomed, straightening in his chair. "That I should return to my old ways? That I should return to . . . _that_?"

"Er . . . yes," Bruce said helplessly.

Thor visibly deflated – his head dropped to his chest and his whole body slumped forward. "But," he said in a broken voice, "she was crying – and he couldn't -" he pounded his fist on the table. "I cannot go back, Dr. Banner!"

Bruce laid a hand on the god's arm comfortingly. "Thor, trust me. It gets better as you go on."

"How?" the Asgardian asked. "How can it get better? HE LEFT HER BEHIND."

Back in the living room, the other Avengers watched the debate flip back and forth between the warrior and the doctor. Natasha shook her head. "I knew it," she said. "I knew it was a bad idea. We should have _never_ introduced Thor to _Doctor Who_."

"Well," Tony said defensively, "how were we supposed to know he'd break down and forswear the show after watching the season two finale?"


	6. World So Cold

**Thanks for all of your reviews! They make me so happy . . . **

**Um, I'm sorry I used Three Days Grace twice.**

**Okay, I'm done putting dumb disclaimers in, because I think after the first chapter I'm free to go. Right? Right.**

* * *

-WORLD SO COLD-

by Three Days Grace

_I never thought I'd feel this _

_Guilty and I'm broken down inside_

_Living with myself, nothing but lies_

_I always thought I'd make it_

_But never knew I'd let it get so bad_

_Living with myself is all I have_

_I feel numb_

_I can't come to life_

_I feel like I'm frozen in time_

_Living in a world so cold_

_Wasting away_

_Living in a shell with no soul_

_Since you've gone away_

_Living in a world so cold_

_Counting the days_

_Since you've gone away_

* * *

Steve sits on his bed, his gaze fixed on the window that reveals the New York City skyline. For a few minutes, that's all he does – stare. Then he closes his eyes and lets out a long, desperate sigh.

Freeze.

Rewind.

Play.

There aren't a lot of buildings, and the few that are there don't quite reach the towering heights of anyone's expectations. He's able to see the blue sky stretch far into the horizon, growing a deeper bluish-purple color the farther it reaches. Then, as night falls, his world is cast in a comforting, blanketing darkness, marred only by the dimly glowing streetlamps scattered alongside the road.

Freeze.

Fast forward.

Play.

Tall, massive skyscrapers loom over the large, bustling city, their pointy spires thrust so far in the air it seems as though they're attempting to pierce through the veil of the atmosphere. The not-so-blue sky has a gray tint to it, and its journey toward the horizon is hidden by the aforementioned buildings. When night falls, it's barely even noticeable that the sun has disappeared. Bright, flashing signs, pinned to the doors of stores, fill the streets with fake, fluorescent light, while moving ads the size of Tony's indoor swimming pool decorate the sides of huge structures. New York City – the city that never sleeps.

It's not _his_ New York.

Steve's fingers twist into the blanket he's sitting on and he wrenches his eyes open with a snap. _Get a grip,_ he commands himself sternly. He's Captain America. He's not allowed sappy, sentimental moments.

He robotically pushes himself off the bed, knowing he has to something – _anything –_ to get his mind off of the 1940's.

Of _his_ time. That's what he's starting to call everything from the 40's – _his_. _His_ Brooklyn. _His_ army. _His_ world. _His_.

Then suddenly a brown-haired, beautiful British woman leaps, unbidden, into his mind.

Freeze.

Rewind.

Play.

She thinks he's said something funny and he sees her hard-to-get smile. She brushes by him and he smells her perfume. She leans back against him and he feels her soft, curly hair tickle his neck. She watches him trip and he hears her laugh gently. She leans forward and he tastes the lipstick smeared on her lips.

Freeze.

Fast forward.

Play.

She's dead. She's dead and done and he's alone.

Tears prick his eyes as he stumbles to the door, telling himself over and over that there's nothing he can do, Peggy's gone, Bucky's gone, Howard's gone, World War II is gone, _1940 _is gone.

His world is gone.

Freeze.


End file.
